


cannibal

by ruruka



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 13:38:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13319304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruruka/pseuds/ruruka
Summary: i eat boys up! breakfast and lunch!





	cannibal

"you look..."

he's breathless, delirious in ardor. the long mirror rests upon gilded feet before them, broadcasting her radiance back from toetips sharp to her angles fine at each turn, fingers delicate to an earlobe. he watches on in reverence the push of stud through it, clasped to its backing in a gentle pinch. his eyes trail down her another time, up again, down again; full hips, lean legs, breasts casting him a hot fool to their deep v neckline. satin is her twist about, a gown of red wine flown shoulders to floor.

the pearls at her neck dip forward in her lean closer to her reflection, and he'd swear he didn't hear any shouting beneath the pillow if it meant he could be in the place of the lipstick tube smudging cross. pucker, one time.

"stunning?" she fills in a turn toward him. an alluring carmine wraps round her charm. naegi sweats the underarms of his suit coat to a sop.

though he chokes at the glance of eyes met locked, he's a breath in to nod her along. "yeah." a swallow goes to his flush, smiling the most quiversome, delighted. "really...stunning."

tenfold is his fluster to her soft shadowed eyes gone to match a simper. elbow length gloves the same sweet white as her jewelry tug upon her, and with them take to fixing his tie in its clumsy handed pose.

"...you look good too, naegi," she says to him in an angel wing breath, palms to pectorals, foundation giving way the most idle touch to warmth in her look away so suddenly demure. still, that smile.

hardly can he believe his luck; the most faultless, most gorgeous, most drag-you-through-the-mud-and-you'd-still-fall-for-herest- a beautiful popstar has him checked off as this evening's plus one, the same beautiful popstar he's been leering at since grass blades trembled along kneecaps. all eyes will befall to them tonight, the guests all in awe to spot him with maizono sayaka on his arm, falling to hushes behind hands and cabernet sloshing. he and the center of his world- they'll take the town, steal the show. together.

she hums low to him, turns back to face him straight on, so near their exhales are a mingle. he'll have to have his tuxedo dry cleaned three times before returning it.

and it isn't that he expected nor didn't (perhaps not certainly, though had fantasized so long the fist to the bathroom door had nearly pounded it clean through) but he's all done up in a bubblegum heart, and maizono sayaka is five'eight in heels yet manages still to meet their lips too sweet for truth. it isn't a long kiss, isn't a steamy salacious make out stolen behind heaven's seventh minute, and despite it they find it a sin to part once it does occur. his mouth rests tinged to match his cheekbones sweltering. she draws back to peer within his honey hazel core. delectable.

"nh- m-maizono," comes aside his push atop her bed, plush and lace and the very same they'd shared in middle school sleepovers and now he dares not even a seat upon. his buttons go one each-  _pop, pluck, pop._ lips work themselves down his throbbing chest, torso. "we're-we're gonna be late for...for the dinner party-  _mh."_

what sort of poor poor fool is he to spurn a lifetime's adoration clamped tossed now a bouquet to him caught, what sort of poor poor fool is he to allow those barriers shattered by the sledge end of fate. finger and thumb, they pinch his zipper to lust's freedom stance. "i'm sure this won't take long."

all his dreams come true in a single push of tongue onto cock.

he's waterboarded in bliss. her head bobs once, slow, even, and his own tosses back to muss linens. he  _moans_ (already,  _eye roll)_ and touches fingers shivering fierce to her hair, thinks better of it to grip rather blankets in remembering the hour it'd taken to pin it up so elegant. maizono's eyes rest closed, mascara thick in lashes pressed twinned, holds the shaft in one glove whilst massaging that skilled mouth along the tip. stiletto pumps peel away to relaxation. the toe to hip slit up her gown gifts deliverance to spread thighs.

"m...mai-aizono..." vapor crawls from mouth so tender. "mm...maizo- nh, oh,  _fuck_."

he feels the teeth drag along his aching hard on, gentle in their pleasing, grazing. a popstar's blowing him, maizono sayaka has her lips around his cock, and he'd swear he'd merely confused the drink mix and cyanide packets if it meant reliving the sensation a nightly measure. that tongue, its swirl and tempt. those lips, their sucking, drinking, loving. those teeth, cuspids the perfect tang of sharp to send his pulse a fury in threatened divinity. though sharper still do they meld his skin burnt at the demanded collision of top to bottom, makes him writhe a madman chained to sic her lain.

"hey,  _ah, nhg-"_ his hips go to a jostling. "that- that hurts, maizono."

tongue. lips. teeth. pressure pressure pressure.

he struggles to elbows raised. consternation writes his expression's sonata. "maizono, i said th-that  _hurts,_ please, i-"

and it's more than hurt in the saw of enamel, more than ache more than pain more than an ever loving motherfuck of torment's kiss when she glances up to him, blue eyes a thick cobalt neath the evening lights and makeup shadows, mouth drenched a richer scarlet than any cosmetic could dare mimic.

he doesn't know how to scream.

the fine white to elbow length gloves smears an eternal contusion by wiping wrist back to chin. he watches her, still, though now not so in desperation to commit in memory but for the inability to drag away those spiral bound hazels in his thousand degree stare. his face is paper when it meets her hands, and he's been kissed three times in his life: once by maizono sayaka on the playground swings, rosy noses and sweet ponytails and childhood affection plump to his animal cracker crumb mouth. once by maizono sayaka in her bedroom, primping for the most elite dinner party on all of the island at togami byakuya's trillionaire estate, compliments in hush, fever in lungs. and once by maizono sayaka, kneeling to his side, palms to his cheeks, blood of his half gnawed cock smearing her lips in a devilishly simple diy gloss.

only before has he been so dizzied by sucker punches to the skull. he'd loll back deafened were it not for her hold upon him, physical, magnetic, demonic.

she giggles daisy petals toward him. bare soles meet lush pink carpeting, and their previous condominium is the ivory strapped pump dazzling in one palm.

"m... _maizono..."_ he says, and her head tilts, and her mouth puckers such a melody of vice.

his jugular spouts a hydrant crashed to at one swift swipe of stiletto.

the gush dies the same note he copycats, knuckles flat to the mattress below him, splayed, staid. blood fills his mouth, reminds her of the spoonful of condensed milk her mother'd always allow them both in their winter break cocoa. it drips a gorgeous hot down either side to his jaw. the heel's tip presses wetly closed his mouth at the chin before it stuffs back down to grant those three titillating inches.

"ah, damn," says her lean forward toward reflection beckoning, crest to chest to pointed toe tips in gunk, plasma that drips the deepest vermilion through every contour. a fingertip smudges along the front most incisor. "i got lipstick on my teeth."


End file.
